


Give Me a Word

by lazulibundtcake



Series: Let It Shine [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Brief mention of semen tasting, Brief use of the word slut, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25751557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazulibundtcake/pseuds/lazulibundtcake
Summary: A quick romp under a long tablecloth.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Let It Shine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868023
Comments: 13
Kudos: 83
Collections: Name That Author Round Six





	Give Me a Word

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The GO event server Name That Author game, Round Six: Full Feral  
> Prompt: "No conversation's good, I want to speak in tongues."
> 
> (Entries are limited to 500 words, but this one needed a little more.)

“Remember,” Crowley murmured in his ear, “any noise and I win.” And then he was gone.

Aziraphale swallowed, looked down at the molten chocolate cake he had ordered. Raspberries, fresh mint, a scoop of vanilla ice cream slowly melting next to it.

Under the table, Crowley’s hands cupped his thighs. Aziraphale let him nose his way in; felt, rather than heard, the small _hmm_ when he found him, already completely hard. His mouth was hot even through the fabric of his trousers, his hands already busy with the buttons that opened them. Aziraphale gripped the top of the table.

The waiter appeared at his elbow. “Everything all right with your cake?” he asked solicitously, checking the teapot.

“Yes, it’s just perfect, thank you.” Crowley, suddenly, had his fingers on bare skin, his _tongue_ on bare skin, kissing and breathing and licking wet stripes onto the head of his cock. 

Aziraphale tightened his grip, and the table responded with an audible _crack_. The waiter paused in his pouring. Aziraphale forced his fingers to unclench, rubbed a palm over the wood to mend it, and gave the man his brightest smile until he finally went away.

Crowley was giving him no quarter, sucking in deep, slippery pulls, tongue lashing broad strokes, hand gently pulling at his balls. A red mist was starting to creep in at the edges of his vision. He closed his eyes, took a measured breath.

 _Chocolate_ , he registered, and looked down at the abandoned cake. He had wanted to eat it, _planned_ to eat it, had thought long and hard about those two pleasures twined. And he wanted it again, now, suddenly, in his mouth: to have something to suck and chew on; to be stuffed, sugar burning down his throat.

He took the fork, managed a gooey mouthful. It was good, good as always, but as always a bit of sweet shock to be breathed through and he _couldn't_ , couldn't open his mouth without moaning so instead he swallowed spasmodically, curled forward and bit the tines of his fork. 

And Crowley was going faster than usual, rougher, and Aziraphale thought that maybe he liked being in the dark, away from Aziraphale's eyes and hands. Liked being able to drive him the way he wanted to, the way he had come to learn that Aziraphale liked.

Not that it had taken much learning, because they had quickly found that Crowley’s tongue was like a drug to Aziraphale, that the sly insistent length of it could wrench out orgasm when he was otherwise wrung dry; that he dreamed about it and woke up wanting; and furthermore that Crowley never said no to him, would invent the flimsiest of excuses to get Aziraphale into his mouth.

("You couldn't be quiet if you tried."  
"I most certainly could.")

He'd been so confident. But now he was in real danger of crying out, of making a scene, and then everyone at the Ritz would know, even if just for a minute, what a fucking slut he was, how much he died for Crowley’s touch, and at that thought he snaked his hand under the table and grabbed Crowley's hair and thrust hard down his throat. 

And he couldn't help it, what he sounded like as he came, but it was ok, the waiters knew him, and they ignored him as they always did during desert.

The ice cream was completely melted. Crowley slid back up, grinning, face flushed, eyes glinting over the top of his glasses. Aziraphale leaned over and kissed him soundly, liking the taste of his own semen chasing the chocolate, a bitter digestif.

He let his hand fall onto his lap, found him hard, squeezed him through his jeans. “Fine, you won,” he said, low, against his lips. “But just wait until I’ve got you back in my bed."

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this work and series title are from the Collective Soul song "Shine" because I am a basic 90's bitch.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NAYHt6dEgK4


End file.
